Claudia Osmond ~ Reader, Writer, and Ruminator

Who Hates?

In ruminating on June 12, 2016 at 5:42 pm
Who hates? And why?
Differences? Appearances? Perceptions? Beliefs?
Look closely. Very closely:
Ignorance grows suspicion
Suspicion grows fear
Fear grows hate
Hate grows ignorance
Ignorance blinds
Suspicion segregates
Fear isolates
Hate corrodes
Who hates? And why?
Haters gonna hate
what they don’t understand
what they don’t understand
Look again:
Understanding grows confidence
Confidence grows trust
Trust grows love
Love grows understanding.
Understanding illuminates
Confidence embraces
Trust integrates
Love builds
Who hates? And why?
Look closely.

I Wonder

In a peek inside my head, writing on June 10, 2016 at 6:33 pm

I wonder if there’d be fewer Brock Turners if fewer important books were condemned and censored*; if there’d be fewer people with a sense of entitlement and privilege if fewer adults tried to “protect” children from the ugliness and misconstructions and consequences of this broken world, early on in life.

Fewer excuses.

Fewer fears.

I wonder if there’d be more Kind People if more important books were encouraged and accessible; if there’d be more people with a sense of respect and responsibility if more adults intentionally educated children on the ugliness and misconstructions and consequences of this broken world, early on in life.

More accountability.

More dialogue

to discuss these things openly

while teaching a better way.

The way of love




Instead of ignoring. Instead of pretending the broken world doesn’t exist. Instead of believing what happens to a stranger is somehow disconnected from reality.

Instead of reasoning that children are “too young” for such topics,

thus becoming a silent contributor to the spread of the current epidemic.

When will they be old enough?

What is the age of accountability?

I wonder if less censorship would create greater wholeness; if it would help children not be fearful of the ugliness and misconstructions and consequences of this broken world, but equip them to face it. To learn from it. To change it.

And become Kind People.


*inspired by recent events of authors being disinvited to school visits based on the content of their books being deemed “inappropriate” juxtaposed by a friend who is being very intentional in raising her young boys to “embody integrity, kindness, respect, and responsibility; to tear down the walls of rape culture,” and who is partly doing this via seeking out books that challenge “boy stereotypes.” Janice, you are my hero. And authors, keep writing about what’s important.

Were it Not for the Darkness

In ruminating, writing on December 6, 2015 at 6:47 pm

I’m not pretending to know what refugees go through, not even a little bit. But as I’ve been reading personal stories of those who have been displaced I can’t help but imagine myself in their shoes. And I wonder if it is possible for them to find shards of hope within the wide chasm of their hopelessness… 


Once celebrated for its fragrant, luscious olives, our province is now well known as an exporter of shattered, devastated people.




Overnight outlaws.




We who fled on foot. And then drifted on water.


Oh, the immense darkness of the sea:

All encompassing. Suffocating. Black as pitch.


But were it not for the darkness, we would not know the existence of stars.


A distant spark.

A light.

A promise.


A glimmer of hope

For that which is not yet visible

But a reality all the same

Just as breath must pass through the cold to be seen,

And the day which rises from the east must first endure the night

So, too, hope comes to life only in the midst of despair.


A glimmer of hope;

Can you see it?

Among the millions that have been displaced and forgotten for so long, individual names are being remembered and spoken and are becoming known.


A glimmer of hope;

Can you hear it?

Above the rattle of tanks and gunfire and the hammer of running feet, erupts the sharp, impulsive cry of a newborn babe.


A glimmer of hope;

Can you smell it?

Through the stench of tear gas and gun smoke and death, cuts a fresh glorious rainfall that stirs and revives the sun-parched earth.


A glimmer of hope;

Can you taste it?

From within the smack of dust and stale air and the metallic tang of blood, emerge memories of warm falafel, savoury olives, and sweet honey in the comb.


Will there be falafel and olives and honey in the new land?

Will the rain and the earth smell the same?

Will all lives matter?

Will someone know and speak my name?


Of these things I cannot be certain. But when glimmers such as these appear, I must grasp them.

Hold on tightly to that which presents to me a future.

Any future.

For surely that which comes after is better than that which has come before.


I must hold on tightly.


Were it not for the cold, I may not be reminded I still have breath.

Were it not for the night, I may not be reminded of the dawn that is to come.


Were it not for the darkness, I would not know the existence of stars.